


Birthday Sex

by Michi27



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Birthday Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom Sam Winchester, Drunk Sam Winchester, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, It's really just fluffy fucking, M/M, Married Couple, Sabriel - Freeform, Sam is a cuddly drunk, Sam wants to cuddle aggressively, Saps, Top Gabriel/Bottom Sam Winchester, it's his birthday after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-23 20:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18709099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michi27/pseuds/Michi27
Summary: Gabriel gets his husband home after a night of celebrating his birthday with their family and friends, fully intending to tuck him into bed and tuck himself around him and drift off to sleep with his arms full of Sam and his nose full of his scent, but that's not quite what happens. At least, not at first. See, Sammikins isn't exactly ready to sleep just yet, and Gabriel can't seem to resist that damn pout.





	Birthday Sex

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoudenSwainfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoudenSwainfangirl/gifts).



> I know it's not quite Sam's birthday anymore; however, it _is_ the birthday of my dear, beautiful sister-from-another-mister, Shell, and I wanted Sam and Gabriel to celebrate with her. Tbh, I think they were rather charmed by the idea (*coughs* they really like having sex with each other *coughs*) 😏
> 
> So, happy birthday, my love <3<3 I am so happy it's not seven months late this time xD I mean, I may or may not have started another fic before this one that's, er, longer, and, uhm, still got a ways to go before I, uh, started writing this one so I could finish it on time, BUT it still counts!! And that just means there's another Sabriel fic in your future, so... heh heh >.<  
> In any case, I hope you're as spoiled today and this weekend as Sam was, and then some because you deserve that. This is my small contribution to the celebration of the gift that you are to me and everyone who knows you. <3 I love you to the stars and back.

The weight of Sam’s body almost knocks him into the wall when they stumble through the door, but Gabriel catches himself just in time (with an unfortunate elbow) and they manage to stay upright. Sam’s breath huffs warm in his ear with silent laughter, his arms around his neck, nose is in his hair, most of his weight supported by Gabriel’s like some kinda clinging octopus.

He’d almost forgotten what a cuddly drunk his husband is.

“Oops,” Sam chuckles. “Sorry, Mr. Winchester.”

It’s been this way since they got out of the car--actually, no, more like for the past hour and a half--and while it’s the cutest dang thing and Gabriel _isn’t_ complaining--even if his elbow regrets everything--his moose is so big, his adorably graceless clodhoppers so uncoordinated, that he can’t possibly predict which direction they’ll sway next until they’re already stumbling that way.

He’s counting himself lucky they’re both still reasonably upright and neither of them have concussions.

“Worry not, my elegant ballerina. Who needs elbows anyway?”

“Mr. Winchester? Where are we?” Sam’s curious and loud voice rings in the darkness. Oh yeah, he’s been calling him _Mr. Winchester_ for nearly the same length of time. That’s about when Gabe decided he should get his moose home. Well, that and the way he kept mouthing at his ear in front of everybody.

Again, Gabriel is not complaining.

He scrabbles for the light switch as he answers him. “We’re at home, Moose, see?” Sam winces at the sudden light and squints.

“Oh. Oh yeah. That’s us,” he mumbles, his sweeping finger gesturing at a picture of them hanging on the wall.

“Sure is, Sammoose.”

An attempt to kick the door shut and flick the lock into place has them careening into the opposite wall, just missing the umbrella stand. And apparently this is humorous because the movement has Sam’s throaty, braying laugh bouncing off the walls and, coincidentally, filling up Gabriel’s already full heart to over-capacity. Damn, best friends with this dude for twelve years, married to him the last three and a half, and that stupid laugh of his still has butterflies fluttering around in his stomach like tiny freaking numbnuts.

“Come on, Mr. Winchester, I better get you to bed.”

“Mm,” Sam purrs, or tries to (sounds more like a stomach complaint), as they head towards the bedroom. “Yes, take me to bed, Mr. Winchester.” He mouths at his temple, mostly missing with their staggering steps and drooling in his hair.

“To sleep, Moose,” Gabriel chuckles. “For once I mean only to sleep.” His man makes a dissatisfied noise, but he doesn’t saying anything else as they make it to the bedroom and Gabriel drops him on the bed, the mattress making a creaking sound as it bounces under his sudden weight. Chestnut hair splays over his face and the white and purple quilt neatly tucked around the bed. Lake green eyes are lazy and blue-rimmed, the burst of gold at their centers strangely more vivid than usual, and those lips Gabriel loves so much are pink, the shadow at his jaw just rough enough for Gabriel to graze his palm against before brushing the hair from his forehead. “Did you have a good birthday, _Maravilloso_?” Those eyes blink slowly, the lashes way too long and way too many. For about the thousandth time Gabriel wonders how someone so gorgeous could wind up with his sorry ass. And for that matter, how Gabriel actually seems to make him happy.

“It was a great birthday,” Sam rumbles, his voice going low and husky, a smile warm in his throat. “It was perfect.”

A grin tugs at Gabriel’s cheeks, something going limp in his chest. Damn, he’s weak when it comes to Sam. He needs emotional viagra or something. Except honestly that would still probably just make him want him more. That’s just his luck. “Good,” he replies, before positioning himself between the spread knees of his husband, calves hanging off the bed, and tugging on his shoes and socks one at a time. His adorable lug blinks with confusion until Gabriel starts unbuttoning the yellow-blue plaid shirt beneath his jacket and starts working at tugging them both of Sam’s shoulders. Still, he doesn’t immediately notice the glint that comes into Sam’s eyes.

“You know what would make it better, though?”

“Hm? What’s that?”

“Birthday sex.”

Gabriel pauses, blinking up. Sam’s coat and shirt are halfway off, a white tank top clinging to his tan abs and the shape of his stomach underneath. Sam’s knees come up as he watches him, bracketing his waist and tugging him in about the same time he notices the glint in those pretty, pretty eyes. Gabriel catches himself with a small hitch in his breath as the heels of his palms in the bed to either side of Sam’s belt buckle. Damn, Sam looks tempting like this. Well... he always looks tempting, but, ya know, there’s a special kind of appeal trapped between his long legs.

He licks his lips carefully. “We already had birthday sex. Remember? This morning?” 

Sam’s eyes screw for a moment, that kissable wrinkle forming between his brows. “Oh yeah,” a smile furls on his lips. “This morning.”

“Mm-hm.”

He thinks about this for a second, and then that pink, lower lip pushes out, slick and totally unfair. “But I want _more_.”

Gabriel’s heart jumps in his chest because, like, okay, he’s not used to his Sam _whining_ and that’s really--um--interesting. But-- “Um… how shall I put this delicately, Sambi-poo? You are… inebriated. Er, intoxicated. _Drunk_. And somehow, I don’t think you’re… _up_ for--” He stutters to stop when Sam grabs his hand and pushes it down on his crotch… where the heat of his hardening length is clearly defined right there beneath his fingers.

“I’m not too drunk to want you. Heart, mind, _and_ body,” Sam slurs, the seduction in his voice… actually kind of working even though he sounds pretty ridiculous.

“Jesus,” Gabriel swears, licking his lips again and tracing the form of his husband’s not insignificant length with not insignificant interest. Mm, that’s his favorite cock in the whole world. He wouldn’t mind having that in his mouth, the head pushing uncomfortably into his throat, the familiar flavor on his tongue…

While he’s pondering this, Sam’s body oscillates against the bed, dragging his ass closer to the edge, just near enough to brush against Gabriel’s… not uninterested cock. “Come on, Mr. Winchester. Mmm, birthday sex.” He tangles a hand in his own hair, looking… horny… and fucking hot. “Get inside of me. Please?”

Gabriel moans, biting his lip at that _please_. Sure, his Sammikins is pretty much a raging, unapologetic bottom, but he almost never says _please_. Still, though, he--he probably shouldn’t… “You know it’s not even your birthday anymore?” It’s true. It’s, like, after one in the morning.

“ _Gabe_ ,” Sam’s exasperated voice and mega-full-bodied-eye-roll has Gabriel cackling in spite of himself. “I want birthday sex.” He hooks his legs around Gabriel’s ass, tugging him in closer, the upper right incisor of his teeth sinking into that tempting lip of his. “Fuck me.”

The mattress makes a crinkling sound under Gabriel’s palms as he shifts. “Are you sure?”

“Hells yeah,” he murmurs, sending the scent of alcohol puffing into the air. Gabriel’s nose scrunches as he hesitates.

“Gaaabe,” Sam whines, again, gripping him with his calves and rocking up against his semi in a very distracting way. “ _Birthday sex_.”

Gritting his teeth and gripping Sam’s hip to keep him from driving him anymore crazy, he gives an exaggerated sigh. “Well, it _is_ your birthday--or close enough. And, besides, how can I possibly turn that pooky-lipped pout down?”

The look his husband gives him, even drunk, can only be described as _smug_. “You can’t.”

Gabriel laughs, hooking his thumbs under than ivory tank top and pushing it up like a rising curtain on a feast. “Got me all figured out, huh?” His lips go down to kiss around his baby’s belly button, flicking his tongue against the skin and leaving patches of moisture behind.

Sam’s stomach quivers. “Heh… yes, I do,” he mumbles, pleased. “My husband has a hard enough time saying no to me anyway, but he can’t _resist_ the pout. It’s--’s my s-secret weapon,” he stumbles.

“Hate to break it to ya, champ, but it ain’t so secret anymore,” he chuckles, dragging his bewhiskered jaw over Sam’s faint treasure trail, thumbs massaging the skin over his ribs. He smells like Irish soap and sweat and clean laundry--the fruity fabric softener Gabriel insists on using. “And all it took was getting you drunk for the first time in like a year.” He dips his tongue in Sam’s navel and scoops it out like the ice cream sundae his Sambo is.

“Oh…” Sam murmurs, like he hadn’t quite realized that. “Damn.” The quilt bunches up between his fingers like shaving cream. Instead of replying, Gabriel seals his lips over his belly button and sucks, flicking his tongue against the narrow walls on the inside until Sam’s bucking against him and he has to grip his hips to keep him down again. Kissing up his stomach, he blows a raspberry on his skin before rising, lips slick with his own saliva. 

“No worries, Sambo, knowing the game you play doesn’t make it any less effective.” He winks. “Now let me go so I can grab the lube.” That perky lip pokes out far enough to use as a chair, and Sam actually tightens his legs around Gabe’s back. “Yummy-yum-kins, I’m just going right over there, but if you don’t let me get the lube I won’t be able to fuck you.” Sam grumbles, and that lip doesn’t go down fast, but he drops his legs so Gabe can get to the bedside table. “Good boy,” he murmurs to a hum from his husband as he slips off his shoes and socks on his side of the bed, knowing he’ll get an egging from Sam tomorrow for leaving them on the carpet but not caring enough to take them out of the bedroom right now. Everything inside the drawer jerks as he tugs it open. “Climb up a little higher on the bed for me, _mi Amor_. And maybe do away with those top two layers?” With a huff of effort from Sam and some creaking from the bed, he does as he's asked while Gabriel finds the lube from the drawer, Sam’s jacket and plaid soaring over his head in the general direction of the laundry basket not two seconds later.

Down those two troublesome layers, Sam drops his head on a pillow, his long legs stretched out and slightly bent, bare feet pointing out of steel blue denim. There’s a flush to his cheeks and a heat in his eyes, but it’s the hand on his crotch that has Gabriel’s breath coming out shallow. “No,” he says--or ya know, tries to, but yeah, that comes out more like a hacking cough. “No--. No touching yourself.”

Sam whines but immediately clutches the quilt instead. “It’s _my_ birthday.”

“I know,” Gabriel replies, climbing up between his legs. “And I will make you feel so good, birthday boy. Here, let’s get this off you first,” he murmurs, pulling up his tank top and tossing it somewhere behind him. Drunk hazy eyes look up at him, beautiful as ever, shadowed by a lock or two of chestnut brown. That brighter gold Gabriel noticed earlier is still vivid in a sea of teal, even as the black in their centers expands deliciously. Some of the haze seems to dissipate as he stares into his eyes, a tiny but gorgeous smile curling his lips. Almost without conscious thought, Gabriel leans down and presses their lips together. Tasting the familiar smoothness of Sam’s regularly chapsticked lips and the alcohol still on his tongue. He chases the flavor of Sam, balanced precariously as he is on his knees and hands and wishing he could palm his cheek and stroke through his tangled hair. Turn his head slightly and feel his jaw move under his thumb as he kisses Gabriel back. Sam’s still a bit messy--uncoordinated--but he’s far more controlled than he was at the bar, and he wonders if he actually is sobering up a bit.

His husband moans softly into his mouth before Gabriel pulls back, smiling as he places another, chaste kiss on his lips and the corner of his mouth before snatching up a pillow and moving back down Sam’s body. The lucky purple-encased pillow goes up under Sam’s hips, raising Gabriel’s prize, the drool-worthy tent in his jeans. "Mm..." With a swipe his tongue, he goes in for a nuzzle, rubbing his cheek and nose and lips over the swelling heat hidden behind denim and mouthing at it wetly, leaving dark patchwork patterns in his wake. He can just faintly smell the musk of him right here, with his nose pressed to his crotch, and he salivates with how much he wants to taste him all over again. Without wasting any more time, he undoes Sam’s belt buckle with quick fingers and snaps the button but drags the zipper down with his teeth, amused when Sam pushes off the pillow to watch better, the tendons in his neck and shoulders popping.

He tugs Sam’s boxers and pants down to his thighs, too impatient to shuck them entirely right now, and watches with some kind of hunger as Sam’s cock comes free, rising up towards his stomach, all puckered skin and blue veins, dark hairs trimmed and curling at the base. It’s impressive, and while Gabriel has ridden this monster a couple times, Sam always prefers to have something inside him, and frankly, Gabriel is happy to oblige. But first… oh, _first_.

The smooth skin is fever hot in his hand where he grasps him and teases his thumb over his favorite wrinkled bit of skin, smiling, almost nuzzling this fine specimen when Sam makes a sound in his throat and gasps his name. “Gabe. Gabe, oh, yeah.”

“That’s right, lover, talk dirty to me,” he teases, leaning forward to lick a stripe up the underside of that cock, leaving that blue vein shiny with spit. 

“ _Guh_ ,” Sam jerks in his grip and Gabriel shushes him.

“You have to stay still now, Sambo.” He pushes his hips down into the pillow with the hand he doesn’t have wrapped around him and smirks at Sam’s exasperated look before turning his attention to the beading, oily moisture at the tip of his cock. “Don’t worry. I don’t intend to keep you waiting.” Unhinging his jaw, he wraps his lips around the head of that beautiful cock and laps. Tangy soap and bitter salt hooks into his tongue along with the natural flavor of Sam, and he moans softly, jerking his hand and hollowing out his cheeks. 

“ _Fu--Gabe_. Holy mother of--yesyesyes!” 

He doesn’t stop his ministrations, but takes in a breath as Sam jerks in his mouth, hitting his palette. His eyebrow goes up when he’s regains his breath at the unusually loud voice of his usually tight-lipped grunting husband. Not wanting to pull off, he asks him if it feels good with his eyes and attributes it to them knowing each other so dang well that Sam actually answers him. 

“ _Yes_ , baby, _nngh_ \--that feels fucking good. _Gabe_. Oh my god.”

Chuffed but not totally satisfied, he relaxes his throat and sinks down lower, letting cock fill up his mouth and bump into his throat. And yeah, he’s had enough experience with this in the last three--or really four years since they had plenty of sex in that ten and a half months before getting married--that he only has to pull up once when he starts to gag before he can get Sam’s cock pushing into his throat. And like, if he _looked_ big before, he feels fucking _gigantic_ like this, which is why Gabriel’s pretty sure he’s given himself a kink for big men (or one big man) and big cocks (or this big cock) filling up his throat since he fell into bed with Sam because, uh, arousal pulses tight and hot right behind his eyes and all the way to the wicked heat in his groin, just at the feeling of Sam past his lips. He groans around him, feeling his throat convulse over the head of his cock and rocking his own hips into nothing at how good that feels, before pulling back and lapping again as the tip to give himself a breath. Sam’s cries and murmurs of _more_ and _fuck yes_ urge him on, his fist making tight little jerks as he sinks back down. His throat tightens around him, and Gabriel’s cock gives a fucking _twitch_ in his boxers.

God, he’s gotta get inside of him or he’s gonna come in his damn pants with Sam in his mouth. And it’s not even the first time he would have done that, but still, he blanks at how hot that is--that he could come with his husband’s cock down his throat and the heel of his hand pressed to his groin.

Fuck, fuck, okay.

Dropping the hand from Sam’s hip, he slips it under the jeans clinging to Sam’s thighs and fingers the silky smooth skin between his balls and the place Gabriel’s gonna fill him. It’s tight with the pants in the way, but he bobs his head and slips the tip of one dry finger inside, but it slides so easily, so _perfectly_ , Gabriel pops off Sam’s cock for a moment just to groan. Apparently his Sammikins is still slightly loose from this morning.

“Fuck yeah--fuck--f-fill me up,” Sam eagerly rocks down on his finger, pushing it inside himself a just little bit more. “Come on. Need you, baby.” Gabriel drops his forehead to Sam’s abdomen. His words still aren’t quite coherent, and he’s louder than usual, but fuck, Sam begging for him _does_ something to him.

“Don’t worry. I got’chu,” he says, his voice tight, as he slips off the bed to shuck Sam’s remaining clothes.

“’M not worried,” Sam pants. “Know you’re gonna fuck me. I just want you inside _now_.”

“Gotta prep you first,” Gabriel chuckles breathlessly, pulling his own shirts over his head and tugging at his belt. 

“Come _on_. I’m l-loose enough. Just get _in_ me.” His husband’s voice ordinarily goes lower with arousal, not higher. Hearing him _whine_ like this is having an unexpected affect on Gabriel’s libido. 

His pants hit the floor. 

“Damn, Sambo, as much as I like the sound of that, I’m not gonna trust you on this one today. Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick.” Boxers tossed aside, he climbs back up between his lover’s legs and squeezes lube on his fingers, chuckling to himself when it makes an altogether inappropriate noise, signifying how low it’s getting. Yeah, that’s going on the grocery list first damn thing tomorrow. 

Fingers slicked, he pushes first one, then two fingers up inside Sam, the feeling of his perfectly smooth heat gripping him ultimately familiar and yet no less arousing. He’s never gonna get tired of pushing into that furled heat with any part of his body: cock, tongue, fingers. Hearing the sounds he can work from the love of his life with carefully practiced, precise aim that he only wants to continue to perfect until the end of time.

“ _Hell_ yes! Gabe, fuck--” White teeth clench, big body rocking down on the fingers spreading wide inside, furled heat dragging him back in every time he tries to pull out.

Damn, he really is one lucky son of a bitch.

His mouth moves to Sam’s thigh and the spots he’s claimed a thousand times before. The freckle above his knee. The soft, hairless flesh of his inner thigh, the small scar Gabriel himself gave him years ago by total accident. He pauses to lick the bruise he left two days ago and nibble at the fading rusty orange of it to bring it back to life.

The squelching of his fingers inside of Sam is obscene, and he draws in a shaky breath to steady himself. Maybe he's a little bit kinky, but he should add that _squelch_ to his list of favorite sounds.

His lips finally find their way back to Sam’s cock and kiss up the side of it. The smell of him now, disrobed and bared for Gabriel is headier, thicker. Metallic and musk and the Irish-clean of the soap he likes to use. And his, all his. He’s the only person who ever gets to smell the scent of Sam’s arousal ever again.

He flicks his tongue over that sensitive spot right under the head of his dick, watching it twitch with the flicks of his tongue just beyond his nose.

“Fuuuck yes… that feels so damn good. N-Need you--oh god--” Sam’s hole flutters around his fingers, his voice having gone breathlessly raspy, and Gabriel knows it’s time.

Retracting his fingers, he quickly slicks up his aching cock, moaning at the stimulation, and falls forward, bracing himself on either side of Sam’s waist and lining himself up. “You ready, _Amante_?”

Sam’s reddened lips are parted, his hazy eyes blown with lust, the flush in his cheeks more from desire than alcohol now, so when he levels Gabriel a look, it’s exaggerated but still all Sam fucking Winchester. “Oh my god, Gabriel, _fuck_ me now.”

With a breathless little chuckle that comes all the way from his stomach, he tilts his head. “Aye aye, captain.” And he doesn’t wait anymore. 

Sam opens for him easy, like a finger in chocolate mousse. Easy and hot and sloppy smooth. That’s it, his Sam, his warm chocolate moose. He almost laughs at his own silent joke but manages only a choked sounding huff with Sam opening around him so good. He slides in easy, all the way until the base of his cock hits Sam’s glorious gluteus maximus and he makes a broken sounding moan. “Jesus, you feel so good. Like you always do, my Moose.” Sam makes a noise of agreement that sounds something like _mmphyabriel_ which he takes to mean, _I completely concur my dear husband, the length and width and most importantly, utilization of your excellent cock is unparalleled_. By which he thinks he means he wants him to start actually utilizing it some more, so he draws himself out until Sam’s rim is clinging to the head of his cock. The gentle sounding gasp from his husband and the fluttering of his lashes when he pushes back in is all he needs to keep going, fucking into him slow and deep. Groaning at how velvety smooth his Sam is with nearly every thrust.

He starts out gradual, pushing into Sam with a certain kind of determination. See, there’s an angle where he hits Sam’s prostate just right every damn time, and he abuses that knowledge. After all, he did promise to make this good for him and it _is_ his husband’s birthday (or close enough). Besides, the tiny twitches and grunts he wrings from Sam have shivers tripping down his own spine and heat gathering in his stomach. It’s these sounds, these grunts, and the squelch, and Sam’s braying laugh, and the smile in his voice when he’s happy--it's these sounds that are his favorite things in the whole entire world. 

“That’s it, Sam, tell me how good you feel.”

His pace has picked up without him consciously realizing it, the _slap, slap, slap_ of skin on skin clapping off the walls.

“S-So good. You a-always-- _fahh_ \--fill me up so good. Oh, Gabe.” Sam sucks in a breath, his cock rubbing hot and wet between their stomachs as he fucks in. It’s Sam’s favorite position, just enough friction on his cock with Gabriel inside him to have him coming hard and moaning. “Oh god--everything feels so good. Harder,” he urges. “H-Harder.”

Digging his fingers in, Gabriel does as he’s told, slamming into Sam’s chocolate warmth sharp and fast. Already panting, he knows he’s not going to last long like this, but he wants Sam to come first. He can hold out long enough for Sam. He drops from his palms to his forearms, wincing slightly as his tender elbow supports his weight, but lowering himself over Sam even more and pressing into the slippery cock between them. “Oh--god--wish--I could--kiss you,” he grunts between thrusts, Sam’s strawberry red lips just out of his reach. If he grabbed his legs and bent him back, he could--he’s had a great deal of experience with the magnificent flexibility of his yogi husband--but after the drinks Sam had tonight, he doesn’t want to risk any wild contortions, and the way Sam buries a hand in his hair, his lips parted as he looks at him, he thinks he probably feels the same way. “Later,” Gabriel grunts with a smile. “Right now, I just want to make you come.”

Pleasure blurs through Sam’s eyes, his head jerking in a nod before he falls back with a moan. His thrusts getting quick and jabbing, he kisses what he _can_ reach, a warmth in his chest by the hand still tangled in his hair. “That’s it, my Moose.” His voice has gone breathy and rough. “Come for me.” Sam chokes, eyes screwed shut as he spreads his legs wider for Gabriel to fit between. “Happy birthday, my love.”

Surprisingly enough, it's _those_ words that have Sam clenching down and coming not two jerking thrusts later, white hot between their stomachs. A shuddering moan comes from his throat as he tenses all over. Gabriel’s hips stutter, suddenly feeling like he can’t get enough oxygen as he stares at the planes of his husband’s face tight and slack-jawed with pleasure. He hasn’t even stopped coming when Gabriel slams in deep and comes inside his Sam, his Moose, the love of his life.

His forehead drops to Sam’s chest, and he pants through it, rocking weakly in him a time or two while Sam grows lax beneath him. 

“Damn,” he says when he can finally string words together again. “I need to get you drunk more often, Sammoose.” God, his neck is heavy, but he does lift it up only to bark out a laugh when he sees Sam’s smoothed out face and closed eyes, puffing little breaths coming from his parted lips as he sleeps. “I’m just going to pretend I fucked your brains out and be proud,” he murmurs fondly to his sleeping prince with a kiss to his sternum. He slowly extricates himself and grabs the tissues. Sam mumbles quietly, but other than doesn’t move a muscle as Gabriel wipes first him, then himself up. He turns out the living room light and then the bedroom light, gently tugging the pillow out from under Sam’s ass and tossing it aside, then freeing the quilt and slipping them both underneath. Sam’s snoring softly when Gabriel wraps himself around him, throwing a leg over Sam’s calf and tucking his arm over his stomach. Sighing a contented breath, his nose nuzzles into Sam’s throat and his very favorite scent. “Goodnight, Choco.” A secret smile spreads on his lips at his brand new nickname. Damn it’s been a long day. A good day, but long. It's barely second when he starts drifting, but he's roused momentarily from his sleep by his husband’s sleepy voice.

“Love you… Mr. Winchester.”

He keeps his eyes closed, but his grin goes wider. He kisses Sam’s neck and cheek and relaxes on the pillow beside him. _Yes_ , he thinks, _it was a pretty damn good birthday_.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The nicknames Gabriel calls Sam in Spanish:  
>  _Maravilloso_ \- Wonderful  
>  _mi Amor_ \- my Love  
>  _Amante_ \- Lover  
> ❤️❤️  
> Thank you for reading! Leave me a comment or come say hello on twitter [@MichChar27](https://mobile.twitter.com/MichiChar27) 💛💜😘


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